


All of Our Favorite Parts

by pornographicrainbowlegs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, Gen, Implied Character Death, Implied abuse, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, briefly though i promise!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornographicrainbowlegs/pseuds/pornographicrainbowlegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little snippets from the lives of the TW characters. It's more or less a study in the relationships portrayed with a side of  head canon.</p><p>Title inspired by All I Wanted - Paramore</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, these do get pretty sad at parts.

Stiles was ten when he armed himself with the DSM-IV. He’d Googled mental illness a few times when his mother first started going to her therapist. But no one would tell him what was wrong with her, only that she was sick and, “Sometimes Mommy needs a break from being Mommy.”

So when his searches brought him to the DSM-IV, he kept his library checkout copy hidden deep in his backpack. He didn’t dare crack it open unless she was asleep and dad was out of the house. He didn’t dare talk about it with anyone but himself, either. He couldn’t bear the guilt if he caused one of his mother’s episodes.

He tried to apply the behaviors he saw to the text, but some things were too broad or could be applied to many different illnesses. He wouldn’t learn until much later that the contents of the DSM were merely “convenient shorthand” and most people don’t cookie cutter cookbook into only one illness.  
Stiles was only briefly comforted that his ten year old self had an excuse for confusing bipolar disorder and depression. But that didn’t make him feel any less responsible.

He’d come home from school and found her sitting in the den on her favorite chair. Stiles called to her once, but she didn’t answer. He didn’t want to wake her; he would be a good boy and let her be. He would do his homework, like a good boy – like she’d always asked him to do with a pinched face and a slow tone. “Mommy has a headache, baby. Get her a vodka and do your homework like a good boy. Be my good boy.”

His father came home very late that night. Stiles had already put himself to bed when John had appeared in the doorway with tears in his eyes. John spent an hour in that doorway and Stiles never stirred. John couldn’t deal with his own grief. How did he expect a ten year old boy to get it? So he slowly walked inside and shut off the alarm, pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead, and walked back out. In the hallway, with the door shut, John pulled the walkie from his holster and called in his wife’s suicide.

Stiles didn’t hear the coroner complete his investigation. They found the vodka cup on top of her note, with three little sertraline pills in a line, waiting for her tired, trembling hands to grab them and swallow one last time – where she’d passed out too soon to take them.

But in the morning when Stiles woke up much too late and made his way downstairs to see his father laying glassy-eyed on the couch, he knew she was gone.

He curled himself into his father and allowed John to cry into his hair while both of them tried only to remember the good parts. Like the perfect crepes she made on birthdays – even though Stiles didn’t get birthday crepes earlier that year. Or how she used to pack them lunches with little notes to remind them how much they were loved – kindly neglecting the fact that the last lunch either of them received was at least seven months previous.

Stiles even talked about how she used to let him pick the raspberries off the vine while she’d weed in her yellow and white sundress. Both of their memories would pretend that the garden that summer was just as lush as it always was in years past.

John wasn’t required to go to the grief councilor, and with a boy and extra shifts to work now that they were a single income family, he didn’t go. He didn’t feel he needed it anyway. Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes expect her to still be home, waiting for him. Some nights, when his key was in the door, he thought he’d smelled her famous roast cooking, and he’d almost get excited before remembering that it couldn’t be – that it never would be – again.

It was nights like those that were impossible to weather without a little support from Jack.

John was never sure when a little support turned into a crutch, or when that crutch turned into an addiction. But he does remember the night he quit cold turkey – or at least the part where he came back to himself with Stiles cowering in the bathroom, with his own fist raised and ready to strike.

Stiles never told him exactly what he’d said or done. And it took until he got his year pin in AA before Stiles hugged him again. Stiles even dug up the crepe recipe to celebrate.

That was the best night of John’s life.


	2. Chapter 2

Scott’s parents never actually got married. Melissa had gotten pregnant rather young, and his father always promised her they’d marry when the two paid off their student loans so that neither had to take on the other’s debt. Melissa bought it at the time, since he was kind enough to let her put Scott on her taxes as a deductable every year rather than splitting the benefit 50/50.

But through the years, she slowly lost faith in their relationships success. He placated her by giving her an engagement ring when Scott was three. But after two years of “planning” and “Can’t be this year, honey, we need a new roof” and “if you’d just quit nagging me” and two more years of “someday, I promise”, Melissa gave up hoping. Nevertheless, the money he spent to help raise Scott was handy, even if he handed it over grudgingly and never seemed to even try to change his hours from the graveyard shift so he could see his only son.

So when Scott was nine, and walked in from baseball practice to find his mother crying on the couch, a slightly dog-eared letter in her hands, he had a feeling.

When she saw her son, Melissa crumpled the note and tried to compose herself. “Ice cream?” she asked with a brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Even then, Scott knew he should have asked. But her eyes were just begging him, “No, please not tonight, not tonight.”

So he said, “Sure,” with as much enthusiasm as he could and by the time they were splitting a Strawberry Explosion, Melissa’s smile reached all the way to her soul.

Scott’s suspicion was confirmed three days later, when he’d still yet to see evidence of his father’s empty beer cans and dirty laundry littering the living room. But one look at his mother’s runny mascara told him the best thing he could do for her is to be a good son and don’t ask questions.

A week later, she pawned the engagement ring and that was that.


	3. Chapter 3

When Lydia met Jackson in kindergarten, she knew he was it for her. She went home and colored stick figures of the two of them holding hands in front of a house with crayons. It was crude and quite obviously a six year olds version of what she thought adults defined as happiness. But it hung on her wall until the next week when Jackson kicked sand at her.

He kept it up. Kids, after all, find any attention to be good attention. He put a slug in her coat pocket, took a purple Crayola marker to her art project, and even stole the Hershey kiss from her lunch box before he was moved to the afternoon session and Lydia didn’t see him again.

Well, until first grade anyway. He’d matured past the pig tail pulling stage.

When their mothers bumped into each other at the store, and decided to chat, Jackson used his mothers’ leg to hide shyly behind. Lydia smirked. Jackson, emboldened by the challenge, stuck his tongue out.

Next week was Valentine’s Day. Jackson waited until recess when no one could see to drop his valentine to Lydia.

The valentine is still in the shoebox marked with his name under her bed, mingled among the prom pictures and saved movie ticket stubs – and the engagement ring. She tells herself she’s moved on, but she still can’t bring herself to throw the box away. So instead, on the nights she feels particularly lonely, she turns on The Notebook, grabs a bottle of red, and slides the box from under her bed. The bowling score card from the double date they’d had with Scott and Allison is sitting on top when she pulls the lid off.

She decides to forego the glass tonight.

In the morning she’ll wake up with a headache, and she’ll vow this is the last time. But even she has stopped believing herself.


	4. Chapter 4

Danny’s first kiss was on the playground at school. He was in second grade and had skinned his knee jumping off the monkey bars. He’d started crying as the blood rolled down his leg, and the recess attendant came over just as Jackson knelt down next to him.

“My mom says kisses make everything better,” Jackson said and proceeded leaned in to kiss Danny on the cheek.

More out of surprise, Danny quit crying. “Gross!” he squeaked and rubbed his cheek clear of Jackson Germs.

That wasn’t, however, the moment he realized he was gay. After all, Jackson wasn’t even his type. Not because Jackson wasn’t attractive. He was just, among other things, taken. And arrogant, self centered, pompous – the list went on. Nevertheless, the list always included loyal. Jackson, despite his flaws, would never let Danny be fed to the wolves – no pun intended.

The dawning realization that he was gay didn’t uproot him. He didn’t go through some sort of identity crisis or feel he needed to hide himself or overcompensate with extra “manliness”. He just keeps going on like nothing changed, because nothing did change.


	5. Chapter 5

Isaac constantly wondered what a car crash felt like. His days were usually filled with thoughts ranging from “how would Erica sound in bed” to “how easy is it to pop your eye ball out with a spoon” and other such crazy. And the bizarre part was that he didn’t mind it.

He figured he would eventually ride off the deep end, but in the mean time why worry?

So his first day of high school was spent searching out the fire exits, just in case he did that chemistry experiment on the wrong side of safe. And why, three weeks into school, he excused himself from gym class so he wouldn’t use his hockey stick as a machete – fucking Greenburg.

He would usually find himself wondering things like how much trouble he would get in to if he up and kissed Ms. Cobb as she explained his English assignment. Or would anyone even notice if he masturbated under the table during his free period.

He tried it only once, with unsatisfactory results.

When his brother passed away, and his father began locking him in the basement, the thoughts took a turn for the grotesque.

As he’d try to claw his way out, while watching his fingernails bend backwards and pop off like fireworks, he would wonder whether he’d die from asphyxiation or hypothermia first. His father wasn’t cruel enough to lock him in there with the freezer turned on, but the thought was enough of a conundrum to set his mind a spark while he waited to pass out.

Later, he looked it up. Asphyxiation via freezer would take 342 minutes; hypothermia could take as little as 45 minutes.

When graduation came, he was truly surprised he made it. With all the supernatural making its way through Beacon Hills, and his raging paranoia, he was shocked he didn’t go out with a bang long ago. He felt it was a shame that Jackson beat him to it.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek was sixteen the first time he was ever invited to a party. As a werewolf, he was incapable of getting drunk. But he felt abnormal walking around the party without the red solo cup in his hand. The beer was warm and didn’t taste good. He dumped most of it out in the flower patch when no one was looking.

Kate Argent was among the party goers. She smirked at him above her cup, her eyes slowly passed up and down his body. He took uncharacteristic pleasure knowing she eye fucked him. The attention felt good, the recognition for all his hard work at the gym and on the field suddenly validated under the eyes of a beautiful woman.

Years of distance and repression block the memories of how she’d gotten under his skin that first night. He still isn’t sure how his fumbling hands and lack of polished practice managed to get her moaning. He often wonders which was worse: that she was just as inexperienced as he, or that she was faking it to further her manipulation.

Either way, the bitch is dead now.

He wished exacting his revenge had relieved some of the guilt. But he still wakes up with the smell of ash on his nose, and he doubts it will ever stop.


	7. Chapter 7

Erica’s first time was when she was seventeen. The bite gave her a bit of confidence and significantly more grace than she’d ever had before. But it didn’t make the nerves go away and didn’t make it any easier to drag herself upstairs to Boyd’s bedroom and take her clothes off in front of him.

She didn’t orgasm, she just felt sick after. She got up to pee and crawled back to bed leaving as large a gap as she could between them. Neither of them moved all night and come morning, both were sore in ways unrelated to sex.

She left awkwardly, giving Boyd a half smile and wondering how they would face each other later at Derek’s house.

But he smiled easy at her when she walked through the door that night and it was entirely contagious. He stood a little too close, touched a little too long, and gazed far too lingeringly. To absolutely no one’s surprise, she wound up in his bed again that night.

He kissed her neck so sweetly; his tongue licked along the curve and gently sucked her earlobe in his mouth. The sound of his tongue licking languidly and his breath coming out in smooth gusts had her tingling in all the right places.

It still feels awkward to sleep next to him, and she’s still so sure he will ignore her later, but he hasn’t yet. He keeps trying to get her to relax and let him make her feel good.

But she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, doesn’t know what to do when she’s on top, and is still afraid he’ll leave her in the morning.

It’s been going on three years now, and he always wakes up with a smile and kisses her temple every single morning.


	8. Chapter 8

Allison was signed up for every sport under the sun. Karate? Check. Soccer? Check. Archery? You bet your ass. Gymnastics? She had competition metals in spades.

Her early years were a spastic mess of “who is taking Allison to (insert sport here) today?” and “sorry, Ali-baby, we’re packing up and moving out to (insert new first day of school hell here).”

She didn’t mind it so bad until her sixth grade year where her paperwork didn’t transfer and she had to repeat a grade. And when the same experience happened also in her ninth grade year, she begged her parents not to move again. She just couldn’t bear being twenty and still working her way through high school.

But they broke the promise they didn’t make and moved the family one more time to Beacon Hills. Her father actually assured her this time it would be the last time. He even brought her all of the course listings the school had to offer and the school even promised to work with her. If she gave up all study periods and came in for summer school, she would graduate on time, like those two repeated grades never happened.

She was conflicted whether to feel embarrassed about getting the extra credits completed over the summer. The people who matter don’t mind and the people who mind don’t matter, as they say. But when Scott asked her out for ice cream when she needed to be at school taking the accelerated math, she felt cotton in her mouth trying to come up with an excuse.

She settled on the truth. He’d find out anyway, and at least he’d find out from her. “Cool,” he said like it actually was cool. “Let me know if you need help studying,” he continued with a smirk and a sly inflection on the last word that implied studying wasn’t exactly what’s on his mind. She pushed him in the wall with mock offense.

He did help her study though, which made it so much easier to reward his good boyfriend behavior.


	9. Chapter 9

Werewolves are unaffected by alcohol. And Jackson was both a werewolf and not yet twenty-one. He had to get his adrenaline kick other ways. Ways that included fast cars and empty highways.

Too bad the highway wasn’t as empty as he’d thought.


End file.
